


Happy Birthday, Simon

by Simon_snows_pitch



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Happy Birthday Simon Snow, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:27:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24850792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Simon_snows_pitch/pseuds/Simon_snows_pitch
Summary: In which Baz is terrible at surprises, and Simon is filled with anxiety.
Relationships: Snowbaz - Relationship, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 17
Kudos: 122





	Happy Birthday, Simon

**Simon**

I can’t figure out for the life of me where we’re going. Baz has been acting strange all day (more like all month, if I’m honest). He’s been up even later than usual at night, I think, since he’s been waking up at noon every day. That’s not even mentioning the fact that he keeps ducking out throughout the day, off to run “errands.”

I think he’s cheating on me. Even just letting that thought in for a second feels like it’s going to break my heart. Or shatter it, more like. It makes a great big pit open up in my chest, and every time he disappears or doesn’t tell me something, that pit just gets bigger. It’s full of ugly things and makes me want to slam my head against the wall once or twice, just to knock things out of it. I dunno what to do. 

We haven’t been this unstable in a while, since back before the battle at Watford. I don’t know how we’ve ended up back here. I’ve been trying. Trying my best to talk to him about how I’m feeling and getting out of the house and such. I’m even doing rugby. (Sometimes I still have bad days, maybe get a bit too buzzed before bed or lay on the couch all day, but I thought we were doing so much better.) I thought he loved me.

Maybe he still does. Maybe he’s just having a hard time with me—with all this. I became a bit of a wreck a while ago after . . . Well, after I found out that my dad—that the Mage was . . . let’s just say it’s been hard. But I kept up my video therapy appointments. I guess I did gain a lot of weight back from binging on crisps and whatever else I could get my hands on those first couple months after I found out about who my parents were. It’s not all off yet, but I honestly didn’t think Baz minded that much. Maybe I should have tried harder.

Anyway, this morning he announced over breakfast that we were going for a drive. “Going for a drive.” Is that like “we need to talk” in gay? He wants to drive so he doesn’t have to look at me when he tells me he doesn’t love me anymore, or he can’t stand the sight of me. I don’t know what I’ll do then. The lump in my throat has been growing ever since, making it impossible to swallow properly.

We’ve been in the car for nearly three hours, and Baz hasn’t said much at all. We’ve officially left England and crossed over to Wales, and he’s steering the car a bit south toward Cardiff, according to the signs. My anxiety is through the roof. (That’s what my counselor said is the proper term for describing a “feeling of impending doom.” To be fair, most of my life was filled with very real impending doom. I hope this isn’t one of those moments where it’s real.)

He’s made some small talk about the weather, but he’s tense and not won’t actually look at me. Maybe he thinks I’ll yell at him or cry if he breaks up with me. I can’t say I wouldn’t. I might even punch him. Well, not anymore. I would have before. I guess crying seems as likely as anything, given that just thinking about it is making the lump in my throat even worse and my eyes are burning. No. I won’t cry. 

I’ve been thinking about what to say, but I’m no good at thinking. My counselor keeps telling me to just ask Baz what’s going on when I’m not sure how he’s feeling. I’m definitely not sure right now, but asking seems impossible. “Hey, Baz, did you finally realize I’m an utter tosser or that I can’t stop stuffing my face or that my life keeps falling apart?” I can’t. But I have to know, I can’t go on like there’s nothing wrong for months. I swear it almost killed me last time. 

“Baz,” I begin, before I realize he’s parking the car at someplace called Forest Farm. 

“Come on then, Snow,” he says, unbuckling his seat belt and springing out of his seat like it’s on fire.

I sigh heavily and pull on my hair for a minute, appreciating the little prickles of pain along my scalp. What if he confesses that he doesn’t love me and then just leaves me here, at a bloody farm in Wales? _Fuck._

My door opens and Baz ducks his head in. He meets my eyes for just a moment before he tears away, saying, “We don’t have all day, Snow.” This is going to be the worst day of my life.

He’s walking away like there’s no tomorrow. I guess he means to get on with whatever this is then. I take a few deep breaths, then clamber out of the car and start following. I catch him up quick enough though, and then start practicing what I’m going to say. _Baz, can you tell me what you’re feeling? Baz, you seem distant and I’d like to talk about it. Baz, if you’ve found someone else, you can tell me._

Finally I catch his hand and spin him round, and he looks a bit uncomfortable. I can’t even hold his hand anymore? I let go and practically shout, “Youdon’tlovemeanymoredoyou?” I stumble backwards, realizing I’m much too close to him. Maybe if I can back far enough away, it will hurt less. 

His eyebrows are on the verge of meeting his widows peak. He doesn’t look cross, but something else. Confused? Or is just pity? “Snow, what on earth are you talking about?”

I can’t help myself, and it all comes spilling out. “It’s okay. I know—I mean, you’ve been gone for—well, not _gone_ , but y’know, you’ve been out. And if you”—I try to gulp down the bile that’s rising in my throat—“if you’ve found another bloke, you know. Someone who’s not such a wreck or, I don’t know, skinnier, or whatever you want—I can—I c—” I slam my mouth closed, knowing that if I say another word I’ll either puke or cry. 

I’m staring at a patch of grass like my life depends on it, willing myself not to come apart. He takes a step closer, and I can’t help but turn away. I start whispering to myself under my breath, “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,” as if saying those words will make them real. 

I can feel that Baz has walked up behind me, and he says, “It _is_ okay, Simon.” Damn vampire hearing. He reaches out a hand to grasp my shoulder and try to turn me towards him. I don’t want to look at his face, but I’m too weak and I end up facing him anyway. He grabs both my hands with his, and his voice is soft when he speaks to me. 

“Simon, it’s not—that’s not what I’m doing. I don’t want—”

 _Me_. I shudder and close my eyes, but I’m too late, and a tear sneaks out anyway. I’m such a dick.

“Simon,”—is he breaking up with me with my given name? Really?—“Would you just look at me?”

I shake my head vigorously. I’m sure he thinks I’m being such a child about this, fuck, he’s probably right, but I just can’t look him in the eye while he does it. He sighs and makes some sort of strangely desperate grunt, then starts pulling me further down the path. I’m powerless to stop him.

“Here,” he says, stopping abruptly. “Would you just look up please?”

I don’t think he’s going to end this nightmare until I do, so I look up. And, for some reason, there’s everyone. Penny, Shepard, Agatha, and Minty. They’re all standing there, staring at me. I can’t believe this. I swing around to Baz, tears filling my eyes. “You want to break-up with me in front of all of our friends?” I croak.

Baz rolls his eyes sky high and mutters, “Crowley, give me the strength.” Then he looks back at me, holds up his index finger to the crowd of people come to witness my dumping, and pulls me back a little further into the woods. “Simon, look at me, love.” He places a hand under my chin, and I look up into his beautiful grey eyes. He’s looking at me like he loves me. 

“Simon, I’m not breaking up with you.”

“You’re not?” I ask through the tears and snot I can feel running down my face.

He laughs a little, which only makes me cry harder. “No, no, no, no, no, love. I’m sorry. I’m just no good at this. It’s a surprise party. For you.”

I wipe my face on my sleeve, feeling thoroughly confused. “A surprise party? Why?”

Baz gestures at for me to sit with him on a nearby log, and I do. He grabs hold of both my hands again, seems to collect his thoughts, and then begins. “So after your, well, after the Mage passed, the Coven wanted to go through his research materials, right? That’s how we found out you two were related, right?”

I can only blink at him. I still don’t get it.

He plunges on ahead. “Daphne is on the coven, as is Penny’s mum. They found a little journal, but it was more like a baby book.” He takes a deep breath. “It was from your mum.”

“My mum?” I can’t believe there was something in his mess that belonged to her. “Can I see it?”

For some reason he sounds both sad and happy when he responds. “Of course you can see it, Snow. It’s yours, you don’t even have to ask. In fact,” he says, reaching into the inner pocket of his blazer, “I have it for you right here.”

He hands me a small parcel that’s been wrapped in bright blue paper with rainbow dragons on it. It looks a little silly coming from Baz, and I can’t help but crack a smile. “Can I open it?”

“Why are you asking me? It’s _yours_.” I immediately move to tear the wrapping off, but he stops me. “But first, if I may. Well, Daphne took the liberty of reading the first couple of pages and then flipping through, just to see what it was. And she showed me the first page.”

Something about that makes me itch—that someone else got to see my mum’s words before I did. I shove it away though as he gestures for me to open the journal. It’s bound in yellow cloth, with bright red roses stamped on the cover. I open to the first page and read: _This book belongs to Lucy Salisbury._ She’d written her name in pen and added several words of her own below. _In honor of my darling rosebud boy, Simon Snow Salisbury, born 21/06/1997._

__

My mum. She wrote this. For me. A whole new swell of emotion is taking hold of me, and I can’t tell if it’s mostly happiness or sadness. It’s then that Baz reaches out one of his long fingers and gently touches the date on the journal.

__

“That’s today, Simon Snow Salisbury. Happy birthday, love.”

__

I look up at him. And Baz, my too-cool and too-perfect vampire boyfriend, is crying. At that, I lose control of myself entirely. I start sobbing harder than I have in a long time, but Baz is there in a moment, and wraps me up tightly in his arms. He rests his chin on my head and just lets me cry it out.

__

Once I’ve spent several minutes getting his shirt wet, I can finally catch my breath. I pull back from him for a moment. “Thank you, Baz,” I whisper. 

__

“You’re welcome, Snow.” He pauses a moment to wipe my cheeks, and then a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Sorry I’m so useless at surprises that you thought I didn’t love you anymore. I was trying to get everything done without noticing. Magickly concealing this place, for starters. Then there were the reservations, the dinner, the cake—”

__

“There’s cake?!”

__

He grins at me, casts a **Clean as a Whistle** on both of us, and then pulls me close again. “Of _course_ there’s cake, Snow. You think I’m going to deprive you of sweets on your birthday?” And then he leans in and kisses me, and I can already tell this is the best birthday I’ll ever have.

__


End file.
